by Kim Faulks
Morgan's thighs gripped him tighter, pulling him in harder with each thrust. Her voice was deep and husky when she cried. “Jesus... I can't. Ohhh.”
It was too late to stop, or slow. Slade gave in to the out-of-control desire and derailed inside his mind. His body shuddered. He cried out her name and emptied himself deep inside her. Their movements slowed and then stilled. He sucked in great gulps of air and willed his heart to slow. Morgan was still, wedged between the wall and his body. Her muscles clenched around him. He groaned.
“Don't move.”
The order was no more than a whisper. He smiled and settled back into her before reaching to brush away the hair away from her face. Her gaze wasn't as intense as it has been only moments before. He could have sworn she pierced his amour and infused her soul with his. Now, when she tried to smile the expression seemed filled with sorrow, pain and distance. In that sad, terrified smile, the room came rushing back, wrenching Slade from the moment of pure perfection and back into hell.
He lowered her until her feet touched the floor. This time she didn't try to stop him. He stood to the side as she pulled on her panties and jeans, shielding her from the doorway and adjusting his clothes. When she was dressed, she stood there, her head lowered. He suspected she was deep in thought.
“I wish I could save you.” The words slipped free before he realized he spoke. He’d never in his life felt so fucking useless. He was no longer the brutal man he’d once been. Something had changed inside him. As cruel as this place was, the moments he’d shared with Morgan were the most perfect he'd ever had.
“I never wanted to feel like this again.” She lifted her head. Fresh tears shimmered in her eyes. His hands shook at the sight, needing to wipe them away… needing to comfort her. Instead, he clenched his fists and let her pour out her heart. “This out-of-control desire for you is scaring the fuck out of me. I… want to be with you, Slade. But, I'm not sure we're ever going to get out of here—”
He couldn’t hold himself still any longer. He grabbed her arms, silently demanding her attention. “Don't say that. We’re gonna get out of here, and when we do, you better be prepared to spend the rest of your life with me, woman. Because now that I have you, I won’t let you go.”
She looked up at him, frightened and vulnerable. “You promise?” Inside his chest something shifted, his heart to be exact. His body was no longer his. Slade’s flesh obeyed a new mistress now and this was Morgan.
He stared into her eyes. It was important that she know—that she understand. “This... room is as close to Hell that I can imagine, but I would gladly spend the rest of my life here fighting monsters, fighting everything, as long as you were here with me.”
The muscles in her throat clenched and finally relaxed before she nodded. He kept his hands on her shoulders, for in a minute, they’d walk back into that room and rejoin the battle to survive. She stepped into him and he instinctively lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her tenderly. He would have stayed there, in the breath that passed from her lips to his and the feel of her body against his, forever. But there was a war going on, one he had to win for the both of them.
He let her to break away. She glanced towards the doorway. “I'm worried, Slade. The demon I could fight, but that thing that came out of here? It scares the fucking hell out of me.”
“The girl?” Everything in this fucking room scared the hell out of him. The beast, the kid… the fucking dreams. There wasn’t a damn thing he could understand about any of this.
Morgan shook her head and dropped her gaze. “She’s no girl, Slade. I don't know what that thing is. But she’s no goddamn girl.”
“What did she… it, say to you?”
That hurt came back into her eyes, dimming the spark of life. “She said... my Father… fuck it. It doesn't matter, anyway.”
“It matters to me.” He waited for her to say more, but all she did was shake her head and step back.
Morgan was pulling away from him, physically and emotionally. If he pushed her, she’d only retreat further. She was so goddamn frustrating... and beautiful. He couldn't risk pushing her away, for her sake, or his. So, he let her go. “Well, then we’d better find out exactly what the fuck is going on.”
Slade checked his zipper one last time before moving toward the doorway. He slowed his steps until he heard her follow. There was no way he’d leave her in this room alone—there was no way he’d leave her anywhere alone—especially not around Colton.
There was something about that guy that nagged at Slade, something other than the scum he was, something Slade should know—that he should be careful of. A memory hovered on the edge of his thoughts… the image of a file, of… someone waiting for him. Slade couldn't shake off a sense of urgency as he stepped through the doorway and back into hell.
Glib’s body lay in the middle of the room, his heart by his side. The muscle was still attached through the gaping hole in his chest, looking like a macabre gesture of love. The glistening white aorta crested the silent muscle and the blood pooled underneath his body, slowly inching its way toward the others.
The heady, metallic scent and the suffocating heat turned his gut. No one bothered to move Glib’s body. No one seemed to fucking care. Philip's corpse lay on its side against the wall, his head turned to leer at those who walked through the doorway. The missing lower jaw no longer kept his tongue contained. The thick organ sprawled out of the corner of his mouth, touching the dirty floor. The heat would make the bodies turn quickly. First they’d smell and then start to liquefy. Jesus, as if this fucking stench wasn't bad enough.
Slade glanced down at the floor to the tiny footprints, which left a neat trail of blood across the room. On cue, one of the women moved, and the child lifted her head to stare at him. He still couldn’t work out how the hell the kid got in here. One minute Slade was charging toward Morgan and then the next minute the beast split into half and out of it came this... thing. Morgan stopped next to him. He heard the sharp intake of her breath and he turned, watching her glance away from Glib’s body. She looked toward the child. Her brow creased and her lips flattened.
The girl held his gaze and her sweet voice filled the room. “I have a secret. I've been living a lie. I no longer love my husband and I've been having an affair with his best friend. My husband and I haven't had sex for over six months now, when he comes near me I feel sick. But Lucas and I weren't careful, and now I'm pregnant. I don't know what to do.”
Dee gasped and stumbled backwards. Her gaze was riveted on this child and her hands automatically went to her stomach. “No, you can't know that!”
The girl continued. “I killed someone. There is no other way to say it. I was drunk and I hit some stupid fucking kid with my car. Jesus, the sound he made when his head hit the windshield. I can still hear that fucking sound.”
The punk scuttled backwards until he hit the wall, staring at the child. “Stop it. Stop saying that. I didn’t mean to hit him. I didn’t fucking mean to!”
Slade turned from Dee, to the punk, to the child. What the fuck was going on here? The little girl smirked and surveyed the others, stopping at the senator’s daughter. “I've held this secret for so long I don't know where to start. You see I am torn, torn for the love of my father, and torn because what he does is—”
Dee stepped in front of the child, cutting her off. “I want you to tell me who put you up to this? I want to know who told you what to say. Was it Jeremy? It was, wasn't it? It was his goddamn solicitor.”
Slade listened to the chatter. It seemed the dead bodies in the room were quickly forgotten, for the dead had no more secrets to keep—not like the living. Slade lifted his hand to shield his eyes. The light behind the walls seemed to burn brighter, hotter, scorching him on the inside. Dee went after the child, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her.
“Stop it! Can't you see you're scaring the child?”
The senator’s daughter stepped between them, shielding the child and forcing the
other woman back. Rachel pushed Dee back with one hand while the other lay against her side, like a snake ready to strike and Dee was in her sight. Dee tried to move around her, darting in and out, reaching for the girl.
“You tell me where you heard that? You tell me now!”
The little girl didn't seem to be afraid. In fact, she seemed to enjoy Dee’s anxiety as she replied. “You did.”
Dee shook her head. “No. No I didn’t. You tell me where you heard that from. Tell me now.”
The punk sidled up next to Dee. Slade guessed he had a stake in this as well. The little girl's voice reached him easily, for she was the only one who spoke. “I've killed for money, I've killed for revenge and I’d do it all again without a second thought. But I no longer want this life, I want to live without a gun to my head and if I have to kill for my freedom, then so be it.”
Her words hit Slade like a gunshot. He stood there, stunned. They’re my words, my fucking words... but how? The little girl cast a glance toward him. It was a knowing look that filled him with dread. He hadn’t told anyone about his plans, only that he wanted out of the club. Slade wasn't stupid. If anyone found out, if word got back to Corey, then he was a dead man. Dead man... those words dragged an image from his mind. Corey handed him a piece of paper. When you get back, we're going to sit down and talk. Just you and me.
He shook his head. It fucking ached. There was just too much in this place to analyze. Too many things that made no fucking sense.
“This is a trick, isn't it?” The punk snarled and yanked his hair. He spat words like nails. “This is all some fucked-up idea of a joke. I'm not falling for it anymore.”
He shot forward, heading toward Morgan. He knew she could take care of herself, but still... he stepped in the path of the young guy with a warning. “Don't do it.”
The punk veered around him and stopped at Glib’s mutilated body. He swung his foot back and kicked the corpse in the side. The body rocked with squelch and fell back in the same position, so he kicked again. “Get up! Get the fuck up, you sick piece of shit. This isn't funny, this is not funny anymore!”
Morgan leapt, ready for the kill. She hit the punk in the chest, pushing him away. He stumbled backwards. Morgan kept on going, forcing him to retreat one step at a time.
“You ignorant fuck. Look at him!” She jabbed a finger toward the pathetic corpse of the black man. “He isn't playing a goddamn game. He. Is. Dead!”
Fear radiated from the broken youth. He dropped to the floor, his body shuddering with wracking sobs, which silenced the room. Slade could see everyone was feeling the hopelessness, the knowledge that each one of them could be next.
Dee spoke behind him. “What she said… that wasn’t me. I don’t understand what’s going on here. But I want all of you to know that none of that was me.”
Slade exhaled slowly. Didn’t the stupid woman understand no one cared? No one gave a shit. They were more concerned with staying alive. He wasn't interested in the murmured conversations. He wouldn’t bear witness to them refusing their sins. Confessions were cruel and personal. No one knew that more than him. There was only one person he wanted to listen to. He caught her as she slid back a step, putting distance between her and the others.
“Why aren’t you saying anything? Is there something you’re not telling us, Morgan? Something you want to share?” Colton stabbed the air with a pointed finger. Slade's entire body tensed. He ground his teeth. He didn't want Colton talking to Morgan, or looking at her.
Is this going to be a problem? Colton's voice echoed inside Slade's head.
A memory rocked him backwards. He stood in a dimmed room. A glow illuminated the blood and the wall-to-wall devices that could only be used for one purpose—to inflict pain and torture.
Colton faced him in the dark, one brow raised, waiting for a response. Slade was frozen, with his heart thrashing inside his ears. He stared at a woman... even in the dull light he knew her... but how could it be... Jade? He shifted, moving quickly now that he truly understood what had happened. He grabbed Colton by the arm and growled. “Yeah, this is gonna be a problem.”
Slade was torn from the recollection by the sound of Morgan's laughter.
“You're as stupid as you are gutless aren't you? If anyone had anything to do with us being in here, it’s you and Miss Rich Bitch, over there.”
Rachel’s head snapped up. She glared at Morgan while reaching behind her for the kid. Colton’s gaze shifted to Slade. “You fucking loser! Who do you think you are, laughing at me?”
“It doesn't matter does it?” Dee cried. “We're never getting out of here. We're going to die in this godforsaken room. I'm never going to see my family. I'm never going to see anyone, ever again.”
Her words seemed to drive home what they were all thinking.
The child's voice filled the silence. Slade could help but shudder as her words filled him with dread. “And He says, I have not come to call the righteous, but the sinners to repentance.”
WHILE THE OTHERS LOOKED AT the child with fear and repugnance, Rachel saw only a chance to start over. To be the mother she was meant to be. In a daze, she stepped closer to the child and wrapped her arms around the delicate girl. Everything faded away in that instant infernal heat, the blinding light, the overwhelming stench. The feel of this child against her was all that mattered. The darling girl lifted her head. Her sparkling, ruby eyes were mesmerizing. One moment the child was bald, then Rachel blinked and she had a head full of blonde tresses.
“What's your name, honey?” Rachel brushed her hair with her hand. The light curls were sleek and soft against her filthy hands and torn nails.
The child held her gaze. “It's Bethany.”
Her breath caught inside her chest. How could it be? “Bethany... my Bethany?”
The little girl grinned. “I can be.”
My Bethany's here. She's here with me. Somewhere inside her mind, Rachel knew this wasn't right and there was something very wrong with this child. Yet that part of her mind was nothing more than a nagging thought that she silenced and left behind.
“Mommy?”
Rachel gazed down at her daughter, her Bethany, and pure love washed over her. “Yes, darling?”
“Is grandpa coming soon? I miss him. I miss our special cuddles.”
Pain gripped her chest. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. A scream clawed along her throat. She captured it between clenched teeth and the room swayed. Rachel tried to hold on to this room, to this moment. Now she had something to live for, someone to protect. Rachel clutched the child hard against her. Her daughter was depending on her to keep her safe.
A recollection came to her. She was cornered by a beast, but it wasn't the one in this room, it was another. She felt herself sink into the past. Dark, flickering shadows danced around the wall. Rachel followed the movement to the fire. The grip on her arm held her still. She glanced down, her heart raced, forcing a scream into her throat.
She was his girl, she was his....
Rachel was ripped from the memory and cast back into the suffocating room. She stumbled forward, reaching out for something to stop her fall, but felt only air. The floor faded from view as she hit hard. It was replaced with another house of horrors—her home.
The sharp smell of bleach tore through her nose like a razor. She wiped her face and stared at her bloody hands. Fresh tears filled her eyes. She wiped away the drops that welled and bore down on the scrubbing brush. Her knees ached after hours of kneeling, but her mind was set on one thing, this dirty, filthy bathroom. I've got to get it clean. I've got to get it clean. The white tiles glistened like shimmering pearls around her, but all she saw was damage and ruin.
She tried to keep him out by locking her door. Somehow, he’d found a way in. Now, the locks were changed, and instead of her keeping the monster out, she'd be locked inside with him.
Her muscles strained as she scoured and her thoughts shifted perspective. Something else had changed about her father
, and as Rachel worked the brush back and forth, she suddenly realized what that was.
He’d stopped drinking. She didn't know when it happened. It could have been weeks, or even months. But the absence of alcohol on his breath told her one thing. The apparition of his conscience had finally faded and now the real Richard Banks was exposed.
Her mother had been dead for over a year now. A year… her tears blurred the tiles. Had it been that long? After that first night he’d been remorseful, terrified of her even. That hadn't lasted. Reeking of liquor, he came to her again a few weeks later—and he took his time.
“Excuse me, Miss Rachel. Your father has called for you.”
Rachel looked up at one of the older maids, Felicity. She was dark-skinned and plump, a motherly woman. One who always had warm milk and homemade biscuits waiting when she came home. Felicity had always been kind to her. What would she do if she knew what type of man her employer was?
“Felicity....”
She smiled. “Yes, Miss Rachel?”
Rachel held her gaze, watched every flicker as she forced the words from her mouth. “I... my father... he....”
Her smile wavered and a flicker of alarm washed over the maid’s face. Could she somehow sense what Rachel was trying to say?
“He came to my room and....”
Felicity's eyes widened and she shook her head, taking a step back. The movement couldn't have been more obvious if she clasped her hands over her ears and ran. She wanted nothing to do with Rachel's pain.
Hope shriveled and died inside her. Felicity dropped her gaze. The older woman refused to look at her. Instead, she searched the floor, wringing her hands. Did she battle with her choice? She had declared allegiance within these walls. There was no help for Rachel here. No knight in shining amour. She was alone.
Lies slipped from between her lips. “My father came to ask what I had planned for my birthday next month and I was hoping you could cook me some of your famous chicken pot pies.”
