Page 10

CHAPTER 10

T repidation ravaged Sephie’s insides. She folded her arms over her knees, leaning close to the computer screen.

Taschen tapped the touch pad. The video started to play. Sephie squinted as she focused on the film. Large sconces were mounted on navy-colored walls. People stood in a circle draped in black robes. White masks covered their faces.

“Is this a movie?” she asked.

“Maybe. Or something that happened on set? The quality is too shitty to tell.”

The gathered group, maybe fifteen people that she could see, let out a long, low collective ohhhm .

Then a man spoke. His voice bounced off the walls as he recited some kind of chant in a language Sephie didn’t recognize.

“What the fuck?” Taschen wheezed.

The people swayed and joined in with the singing. Material fluttered against the microphone, momentarily muffling the sound. “Whoever’s filming this is wearing a hidden camera,” he said.

“Yeah, that seems to be the case. I... just. I can’t figure out what’s happening. Some kind of... ritual?” she whispered.

The singing stopped. The man who’d started the chant walked into the center of the circle. He kept his hands in front of his abdomen, his fingers tented and pointing toward the ground. “It’s time. Proceed single file downstairs. Our offering is ready.”

Sephie’s breath coiled in her chest. Nausea built in her esophagus until the pressure became too much. She pressed her knuckles against her teeth as she watched the hooded people move down a winding staircase.

Anticipation made her skin hot and sticky. The people reached the bottom of the stairs and the corridor opened into a large viewing room. A center aisle led down to a stage. Rows of red chairs flanked the sloped aisle. The person hiding the camera made it to the front row and took their seat. Red curtains blocked whatever was set up on the stage.

Her pulse buzzed low in her head.

“You don’t have to watch anymore. I’ve got it.” His hand covered her knee.

“No, I can’t.”

He leaned forward and tapped the mouse. The video paused. “Sephie, you don’t need to see this. There’s no reason for both of us to watch. ”

“I have to. Pippa wanted me to do this for her.” Her words came out on a wail. She didn’t want to watch the damn thing, but she had no choice. Pippa’s dying wish was for Sephie to finish this for her. To take down her abusers.

She’d see it through if it was the last thing she did.

Taschen’s hazel gaze bore holes through her. “If it’s bad, I’ll carry you from this fucking room.” He faced the screen again and punched the mouse with more force than necessary.

Hushed voices muttered. The person with the camera spoke to someone beside them. But the low drone of nearby conversation washed out most of their words.

“I’ve been waiting for this one,” the man next to the person with the camera said. His voice was pitchy, as if he couldn’t contain his excitement.

“Have your paddle ready. I heard the bids went high last month,” the cameraman’s deep voice replied.

The hair on Sephie’s skin frizzled to attention. A creeping sensation puckered her flesh. “Oh my god. It’s some kind of auction.” She flicked her gaze to Taschen.

He sat with his fist holding up his chin. A shadow crossed his face but he didn’t comment.

She turned her attention back to the video unfolding. The lights surrounding the audience dimmed and another cloaked man came on stage. This one had a different build than the creepy character who’d ordered the group to the basement.

“Good evening.” His voice came through a speaker system.

She worked her brain faster than a slot machine, trying to place the voice with a face. But came up empty.

“I’m glad so many of you could make it tonight. This will make the event extremely entertaining. The same rules as always apply. The prize goes home with you and returns in the morning. Any permanent alterations will result in a hefty fine. No exceptions.”

Sephie’s breath spiraled in and out of her nose. The automatic function was the only thing keeping her conscious.

“Without further adieu”—his voice rose to a sadistically high octave—“let’s begin.” He moved off the stage as the curtain slithered open. The stage was dark. Sephie blinked rapidly and drew closer. Horror held her tongue.

Floodlights clicked on from above. Their white glow basked the stage in cold illumination. Sephie bunched her hands into fists until her nails pierced her palms. An upright steel bed, like something out of an examination room, dominated the middle of the stage.

A young man wearing only black briefs was strapped to the bed. Belts were positioned around his waist, his legs, and his wrists. His head lolled from side to side, his mouth slack and his skin a pasty white. His dark hair had frosted tips and his long, lanky body was free of markings except for one tattoo, beneath his left clavicle.

A heart emblazed with flames.

Her brain registered the tattoo and her blood stilled in her veins. Tears rushed forward but not as fast as the vomit. She leapt to her feet and ran for the bathroom.

Oh god. No .

What did they do to him?

***

“Sephie!” Taschen paused the video and ran after her. Pushing through the bathroom door, he saw her kneeling near the toilet, her shoulders shaking. He brought his hand between her shoulder blades and gently rubbed. “What’s going on?”

She stood, turned, and pressed her face against his chest. He cupped the back of her head. Whoever was on that fucking table in the video was someone she knew. He couldn’t place the young man, but his vision had been blinded by fury.

Surrounding her with his arms, he held her tightly. “Do you know who that was?” he asked softly.

She nodded and gave a shrill cry.

Fuck.

“Baby, you’ve gotta tell me what you know. We need to find him—”

She shook her head and pulled away. Strands of hair were pressed against her damp cheeks, and tears still filled her eyes.

Pain twisted his heart. Her chin trembled and her hands clung to his shirt. He cupped her jaw, running his thumb over the smooth, perfectly etched line. Waiting. He’d hold his breath until he passed out if it meant not pushing her again.

“It’s Clay.” Her words shook the room.

He blinked. “What? I don’t understand.” He hadn’t gotten a close look at the boy’s face, but he’d appeared younger than Clay.

“The video must be a few years old.” She sniffed and rubbed the tip of her nose. “His hair is naturally dark, but back in 2020 he frosted his tips for a role. I don’t remember what it was—”

“Wait, hold on. How old would he have been?”

Anger pinched Sephie’s features together. “Fourteen.”

“Jesus.” He dropped his hands and paced the bathroom. “We don’t know what happened yet. It’s implied, but...” He exhaled, common sense telling him that whoever was behind this wouldn’t have drugged the kid, auctioned him off, then returned him untouched.

“I’ll finish watching. You stay here.” He slashed his hand through the air adamantly. No way he was letting her watch another minute of that fucking shitshow.

But they had to find out who was behind this. What the hell were they supposed to do with this information if not give it to the police, though?

She grabbed his elbow with both hands. “No. I have to know. For Clay. That’s why Pippa didn’t want him to watch it. He—I don’t think he knows what happened to him.”

Taschen rubbed his palm across his mouth and beard. She was probably right. If Clay knew, this likely would’ve been exposed sooner. He wasn’t going to ask Sephie if they should tell Clay. That was her call to make. But goddammit, if he’d been in the kid’s shoes, he’d want to know. A realization came to him. “But Pippa apologized in the letter, said she should have protected him. So he must know something.”

Sephie’s eyes clouded with confusion. “She could be referring to something else. A different scenario that made him vulnerable.”

He nodded. That had to be it. He brought his focus to Sephie’s earnest face. He couldn’t tell her what to do, but he could sure as hell mitigate some of her pain. “Let me watch it first. That way I can prepare you for what you’re going to see. If nothing else is shown, you don’t need to watch.”

Her face was somber, but gratitude sparked in her eyes. “Yeah. I’m okay with that.”

“All right. Want to wait here?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. I can wait in the room. ”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her toward the bathroom door. He went to the sofa and she paced the small room, her hands knotting and unknotting in front of her. Part of him wanted to suggest she sit on the bed or one of the chairs, but there was no way she was going to relax. He couldn’t blame her.

Tension wound inside him like a metal spring as he pressed play. He didn’t want to watch this unfold. Wished like hell he could toss his computer from the hotel window and smash the existence of such evil along with it. But he couldn’t. All he could do was pray that nothing more graphic was recorded.

Chatter sounded from the crowd as people identified who was up for auction. Taschen clenched his hands into fists as he leaned back and placed the computer on his lap. He lowered the volume to lessen what Sephie could hear.

The men clapped. The sound coming through the speakers was sharp.

“Do I hear fifty thousand dollars for our handsome Clayton Surf?”

Jesus.

A lead ball of disgust sat heavy in his throat. He swallowed it, rocking his jaw back and forth. If there’d been any doubt who the kid was, that sure cleared things up. Someone claimed the bid and the number quickly rose to ninety-five thousand dollars .

“Going once. Going twice. Sold to number 21!”

The man next to the person with the camera cheered. “Yes, finally. I’ve been eyeing this one for months and waiting my turn.”

Taschen’s stomach vaulted.

“Congratulations.” The acknowledgment came from the man wearing the camera. “What are you going to do with him?”

The winner laughed. “I’ll never tell.”

Two men climbed the steps and rolled the bed toward the left side of the stage. Clay’s head swiveled, and he blinked with confusion. Then... recognition sparked for Clay. He started to buck and strain against the bindings. “N-No. No, please!” His hoarse plea echoed from the laptop.

The audience erupted with excitement. Their sinister laughs filled Taschen’s ears. Nausea pressed against his stomach.

The announcer returned to the stage. “In case anyone’s concerned, Clayton will remember nothing. You all know how this works. Our next meeting will be announced in October. Mark your calendars for our special spooky event.”

People began to leave the room. Taschen hit pause and lifted his gaze to Sephie.

She stood with her arms wrapped around her middle, her expression contorted and agonized. “I heard some of it.”

He grimaced and stood, pulling her into his arms. “I’m so fucking sorry.” He ran his fingers over her silky strands. She didn’t cry, but her quiet, still demeanor hit him harder. Seeing her lock away her pain cut him deep.

But he couldn’t do more than hold her. Couldn’t ask her to share more than she wanted.

“Taschen?”

“Yeah?” he asked gruffly. He stopped stroking her hair and just hugged her, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“Do you think they . . . assaulted him?”

Ah, Christ. The bitter taste of revulsion burned his tongue. He couldn’t tolerate the idea of anyone being touched against their will. But it happening to someone underage, someone who had no knowledge of the abuse—that was infinitely fucking worse. There weren’t words to sugarcoat this shit. “Yeah. I think that’s what happened.”

“Oh god,” she cried.

He held her tighter. “I promise we’re going to put an end to this sick little cult.”

She sniffed and pulled back. “I need to talk to Yvette. I have to see if she knew about this.”

“Sure, honey. Whatever you want.”

“Really? Anything?” She raised her eyebrows. He kept his hands on the middle of her back, enjoying her closeness.

A grin tugged at his lips. “That depends. Are you going to make me hunt around town for something specific? ”

One delicate shoulder shrugged. “I was thinking about chocolate.”

“Chocolate, huh? I’m sure room service has something on the menu to fit the bill.”

“That’d be awesome. Thank you.”

He pulled out his phone and handed it to her. “Go ahead.”

Her fingers brushed over his. “Are you sure you want me to take the risk of calling her?”

This time, he snorted. “Does it really matter what I think?”

She stared down at the device. “It does because I don’t want there to be hard feelings between us.” Her honesty struck him.

He covered her wrist with his fingers and squeezed. “No hard feelings. Do what you’ve got to do. I’ll keep you safe no matter what.”

“Thank you.”

He winked. “Chocolate cake comin’ right up.”

She made her way to the chair near the window. Her ass swayed in the dark leggings that hugged every mind-altering curve. She glanced over her shoulder, a warm smile on her lips.

He’d never considered himself vulnerable. But Sephie was his kryptonite.

“Yvette,” she said into the phone. “It’s me.” She spoke low while he used the phone in the room to order chocolate cake with vanilla ice cream—and two spoons. He didn’t want to acknowledge that doing so was romantic as all fucking hell .

Damn he needed a cold shower. Hanging up the phone, he turned his attention to Sephie. Her face was still pale, but it was the lines of stress under her eyes that gripped his stomach like an iron fist.

Her eyes rounded and her gaze landed on him, her hand tight around the phone against her ear. “Oh. My. God.”

Shit.

“Are you sure?” A long pause. “Okay, yeah. We’ll come by your hotel in the morning.” She ran to the desk and picked up a pen then scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Be careful. I love you, too.”

She hung up and placed the phone on the desk. Leaning on the mahogany wood, she pinched her nose with her fingers, her head down.

He rested his hand on her hunched back. “What’d she say?”

Sephie straightened, and her fiery green eyes landed on him. “Clay gave her a letter yesterday too. One directly from Pippa.”

Whoa. “Saying what?”

She sniffled and shook her head. “I don’t know exactly. We had to be so careful about what we said. I told her we had a video. One that would harm Clay.”

“Was she surprised?”

Her wary gaze flitted around the room before returning to his face. “No. I think she knows something about it.”

“Shit.” Confusion made him frown. “I don’t understand. If she knew something, why wouldn’t she go to the police?”

Tears swam in her eyes. And god help him, he hated that he’d seen her cry more times than he’d seen her laugh.

She rolled in her lips. “To protect Clay.” Her voice was impossibly small. Broken. “Because if he found out what they did to him, it’d kill him.”

He inhaled and lifted his gaze to the ceiling. Somehow he’d gone from protecting a former actress to helping solve a murder case and exposing a sick cult. He’d never been up against shit like this. Didn’t possess an investigative bone in his body.

But for Sephie, he’d become Sherlock fucking Holmes.