by Kim Faulks
She lifted her hand. “Dad, why don’t you put the gun down?”
His gaze narrowed on her. His forehead glistened and sweat ran down his face. “What are you doing here, Morgan? Who’s with you?”
He didn’t trust her. The gun wavered dangerously in the air and Morgan focused on his finger that rested on the trigger.
“There’s no one else here, Dad, only me. How about you lower the gun, okay?”
His forehead creased and with his other hand he wiped his eyes. A warning sounded inside her. A siren, screamed, piercing the air. There was something very wrong. “Dad… Dad, are you okay?”
“Why are you walking around here in the dark, Morgan? What is that? What have you got in your pocket?”
The bulge in her jeans felt bigger than it had a second ago. She dropped her hand to hide her mother’s jewelry.
“Tell me, Morgan. What are you hiding there?”
She shook her head. Her movements felt slow, as though time itself lagged. His hold on the gun slipped and the barrel fell toward the ground. She could see her father react, but his movements were somehow off. He fumbled with the weapon as it fell, and the gun went off. The sound was deafening and the acrid scent of gunpowder filled the air. Her father eyes widened. He dropped the gun and reached for his chest as he fell to the floor.
SLADE SKIDDED ACROSS THE FLOORBOARDS to where Morgan lay. She appeared lifeless, her eyes clouded with a faraway glaze he’d seen too many times to count. He screamed and the sound detonated like a bomb, ripping through his throat while shrapnel tore his heart. “No!”
Her body sagged in his arms. This woman had given him so much. She’d given herself. She'd given her loyalty. And, he’d failed her. “No, please, no.”
Her hand slid from his hold and hit the ground as he rocked. He grabbed it, tucking her slender fingers against his chest. His world was broken. His vision blurred. Thick tears slid down his cheeks as his life fell apart around him in a blazing inferno. Of all the things he’d endured, this place—this room, was by far the worst. To be haunted by all the shit he’d left behind was cruel. Shit that should've stayed in the past—he wasn't that man anymore. He brushed Morgan’s hair from her face, ran his thumb across the freckles on her nose, and dropped his gaze to angry, red marks around her throat.
His heart throbbed with an ache that made his hands tremble and his gut harden. If he hadn’t seen the floor open up and swallow that fucking piece of shit, he would’ve torn this place apart, just so he could torture him again, but Colton was gone and now, so was Morgan. Slade clutched her body hard against him wishing with all his might he could somehow share his heartbeat and bring her back.
Colton’s tortured screams returned to Slade. They’d haunt him for the rest of his goddamn life. He looked over his shoulder. The floor had opened up and swallowed the bastard, as though this room was living, breathing thing, and it was fucking hungry. Colton had fought something Slade hadn't seen, as though Hell itself had waited under the floor of this fucking room.
A nagging thought lingered, that this place was a twisted, spindled web, which centered on this room and the dreams that haunted them. Maybe the dreams were more than just dreams? Maybe they were unfinished business? A chance to say ‘sorry’ for all the shit they'd done? Even that didn't make sense to him, but what did? Not the dreams nor the fucking beast that came to drag them under the floor, one by one. Slade knew, with a sinking feeling, that the beast would be coming for him next.
His arms clenched automatically, holding Morgan tighter. He nodded, and swallowed. He was okay with dying, but not Morgan. He looked around at this fucking room. The bodies were piled high, the stench of death was just too strong to overcome, resignation had finally come.
He felt something shift inside him. A power he'd never felt before reared up. His body rippled with an energy that centered on his heart. He focused on Morgan as the power took hold. Somehow, he was going to save her.
His voice was barely a whisper, but he knew the room would be listening. “You want to drag me down there. I can feel you waiting, tormenting me with fear. But I'm not afraid of you and I'm not afraid of where you'll take me. But not Morgan... you can't have her. So, you give her back to me and I'll go where you want, for as long as you want me.”
His voice died in the stifling air. He waited. He rocked Morgan’s body in a cradle of his own flesh and blood, and waited. Each bead of sweat dripping from his brow held a plea.
Please... please, give her back to me... I beg you. He stayed like that for a long time. There was nowhere else for him to go. He'd never leave her again.
Her body jolted in his arms. He jerked. His hands shook. He reached for the bruised flesh at her throat, searching for a pulse. He couldn’t find anything. He couldn’t hold his hands still long enough to see if she was alive. Slade pressed harder and found a flutter, a tiny beat. Her eyes flew open and she took a breath.
“Oh, Jesus. Morgan… Morgan.” His own heart thundered to life. He held her close, forcing her body to meld with his. “I thought you were gone. I thought you’d left me.”
She whimpered, her lips moved silently. He leaned closer, listening.
“Please Dad, lower the gun.”
She convulsed in his arms. Her teeth gnashed together violently and he held her head gently, cradling her like a child, as the dream fought to keep her. He could feel his arms shake as he rocked. The motion didn't soothe him. Inside, he was like a volcano, raging, about to erupt. Morgan blurred in his arms. He could do nothing for her. In this moment, she belonged to the past and to the horrors that waited for her.
Why? Why bring up our secrets now? Why here? The glare brightened pitilessly. The piercing beams seemed to force open the cracks of the walls wider, calling to the power inside him. His hand left Morgan’s face to meld into the blinding brightness around him. His heart jolted. His body convulsed as he stared into the brilliance. In that moment, he knew that the light would somehow save her—it would save them.
“Slade.”
He glanced down to see her eyes flutter and focus on him. “It's me, baby. I got you.”
She licked her pale lips as the life in her eyes slowly returned. “I didn't mean to kill him.”
“You didn't kill him, Morgan. The beast did. I wouldn't have blamed you anyway for what Colton did to you.”
She shook her head and winced. “Not him... my father... I didn't mean to kill him.”
An ache flared in his chest at the sound of her words. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled over. “I know you didn't, baby. This is gonna sound strange, but I think you need to tell him that. The dreams are for you to say you're sorry—”
A low growl vibrated the room. Slade jerked at the sound and watched the beast rise out of the floor, but his gaze wasn't fixed on Slade. It stared at Morgan instead. Slade shot forward, scrambling to his feet but he was so fucking weak and so goddamn slow. Her knees gave out, and she dropped. He lunged. His fingers skimmed the fabric of her shirt, snagging the edge, he slowed the impact of her head with the floor. There was no way he’d be able to hold her and fight the beast at the same time.
The light pulsed with a vibration and his body hummed. The beast spun and roared at the blaze, lashing out with his fists at the cracks in the wall.
Slade used this moment to carry her as he stumbled toward the doorway. He had to get out of this room. They needed to make it to the light. “Baby, you have to get up now. Come on Morgan, you have to stand. That's a girl... stand up.”
She moaned, but held firm. He set her on her feet, leaning her against the wall for support. He could hear the beast roar inside the smaller room. Slade prayed for a miracle. There was something out there, something in the light that was calling him, that wanted to help them. He leaned down and kissed Morgan softly. “We gotta find a way out of here, baby. It's our only chance. It's the light Morgan, we gotta get to the light.”
Her brows furrowed in a look of confusion. She licked her lips and tried to speak. �
��There's no way out of here Slade, we've tried before.”
He stared at the walls, remembering how useless his body had been against the boards. There had to be some way out of here—some way to the light.
“Slade.”
He turned to follow her hand as she caressed a crack in one of the boards. The smear of blood made him lean closer, matted black hair stuck out from underneath the grain and Slade looked back to where Glib’s body lay, piled in the corner. This was where the beast had thrown the old man into the wall, using his body as a ram. Light shone through the crack. Hope fluttered in his chest like a trapped crow. He pushed against the broken board, feeling it give slightly. Mere feet away, the beast filled the doorway of the smaller room. It lunged forward, reaching for Morgan, and Slade's world slowed.
He saw Morgan turn as the demon stretched greedy talons in her direction. The curved claws glanced off the top of her boot. Instead of scrambling away, she dove forward, through the monster’s legs, to disappear into the smaller room. “Hurry, Slade!”
He understood instantly what she meant. She was weak and no match for the beast. Their survival depended on him. He reared back and aimed for the broken board, slamming into the wall. The board shuddered underneath him, but didn’t give way. His heart tore, listening to Morgan’s screams as she tried to keep the beast at bay.
Her faith in him spurred him on. He dug deep and dove at the wall again. Pain tore through his shoulder as his body gave way under the impact. He didn’t stop, only stepped backward to make another run. The wall cracked as Morgan screamed. This time, the sound was one of pain.
“No! Morgan!” He stumbled and lunged once more at the wall. The wood splintered and the boards gave way. He didn’t waste a moment, and stumbled for the door watching helplessly as the beast lashed out. The sickening sound of the impact ricocheted inside him, tearing through the veils between this existence and another. Slade felt the past reach for him. He stepped sideways and slammed his shoulder into the wall in an attempt to shake off the vision’s hold. The pain was instant and crippling, but he couldn’t escape the past. Morgan struggled to her feet, but he fell to his knees. His eyes locked on hers when she turned. Her mouth moved in a soundless cry, but he couldn’t hear her—he was already gone.
He stood in the darkened room. The lifeless body of the senator’s man was still strapped to the chair in front of him. The rank smell of blood, piss, and shit smothered him. He wiped the sweat from his brow and stared at the bloody mess. He’d gone too fucking far. The cutters hit the floor with a clang. This wasn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go down at all. He glanced over to the dead woman. Jade’s crumpled body lay against the wall, discarded like a dirty rag. In the soft glow, he saw what the sick fuck had done to her. The sight made Slade want to kill Colton all over again.
He was many things in this life, a thug, a low-life piece of shit that’d treated women like walking pieces of pussy. He’d used them, left them, but he’d never… never hurt them, not like this. He searched for the blood-splattered blonde hair once more and flinched. The sight only reinforced the fact that he was done with this life and with the club. No more would he let this part of himself taint his soul. He wanted out and he wanted out now.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
Slade spun at the sound and stared at Corey, who filled the doorway. “What the fuck have you done, Slade?”
The room fell silent. He had no excuse. The plan had gone to hell, and there was only him to blame, and yet somehow, he felt strangely calm about this. Corey didn’t move. He only stared at the bloody mess in front of him, keeping Slade within sight.
In the light leaking from the kitchen, he saw Corey’s hand tighten around the Sig’s grip and his blood-brother’s finger hovered over the trigger. Slade knew there was no back-slapping hug, no brotherly love—not for him—not anymore.
His gun lay on the ground three feet away, beside what was left of the woman’s golden dress. He’d placed it there on purpose. The gun would’ve been too quick for his sick bastard, too easy. Slade had wanted him to hurt—he wanted him to scream, and scream he did, all the way until the fucking end.
The man who’d once been his best friend met his gaze. For the first time, Slade caught a flicker of… fear? Regret? His heart slammed against the confines of his chest. He’d never known Corey to regret anything in his miserable goddamn life. The weight of this moment fell heavy upon his soul. He spoke. “You here for something?”
Corey flinched. “I came to tell you, you’re not leaving the club.”
Slade’s heart tightened. Somehow he’d known the end would come down to this, to the right and the wrong, the past and… the future. And yet, Slade knew he was too far gone, standing there with blood on his hands, knowing this act was a defiance of everything his soul yearned for. In this moment, he was freefalling. He’d stepped off the ledge for whatever fate had in store for him. He closed his eyes, willing himself to still.
If anyone up there’s listening, I want to say I’m sorry for all I’ve done.
He expected to feel something… anything. There was no easing of his soul. No finality of his world, there was nothing but an empty void. As he opened his eyes and saw the cruel end reflected in Corey’s gaze, he knew that void would never be filled.
Slade moved, springing for the gun that lay next to the bloody dress and heard a shot ring out. He hit the ground hard and pushed forward. He moved slow… too slow. His legs were heavy, his hands clumsy, and there was something about his chest… a pain… an ache. He focused on his gun as another shot filled the room. His body jolted and the pain he’d tried so hard to ignore flared. His hand skimmed the cold metal of the gun, before it was kicked from his reach.
“Damn you to hell for letting it come to this, Slade.” Corey’s face came into view as he knelt. “I fucking love you, man.”
The pain dug deep, clawing through his stomach. Rough hands pushed him, rolling him onto his back. He coughed and spluttered and was jerked along the ground until he rested against something warm, something soft.
“Damn you to fucking hell, you sonofabitch.” Corey whispered and the arms around him tightened. Slade lay like that while his mind raced and his body fell silent. And soon, somehow, that void no longer mattered. Nothing mattered at all.
MORGAN WATCHED SLADE STUMBLE INTO the room and hit the wall before he fell. She didn’t want to take her eyes off him, but the beast was on top of her. She tried to scramble away. She was weak and her movements were slow. The beast came after her, roaring loud enough to take her thoughts away. She felt its breath at her neck and had no time to move as the demon’s fist whipped through the air.
The impact knocked her across the room. Pain cleaved her head as she hit the floor. She lay still. Her only movement was in her chest as her breaths came hard and fast. Morgan couldn’t take any more—no more pain—no more of this room. She was done. There was just no fight left in her.
The room blurred and then sharpened. She used her last ounce of will to turn her head to Slade. His hand slid along floor, reaching for her. He rolled onto his side, pain contorting his face. He looked just as weak as her, and like her, he was hurt. He cradled his arm as he struggled to sit up.
They’d been through so much, and yet she was so tired. Tired from holding the beast at bay—out here and in inside herself. Morgan pushed up off the ground. She wouldn’t allow Slade to die here without her. Resignation thickened the blood in her veins, making her movements sluggish. The beast’s heavy footfalls ceased.
She lifted her gaze and stared into its black eyes. There was no way they were both getting out alive.
The beast seized a handful of her hair and jerked her head back. She smelled the foulness of the room, the heat, and the horror she’d endured, and in this moment, she welcomed the end.
Her sight sharpened. Movement drew her attention past the beast to where the floor was opening up. She saw something, someone climb out of the floor. For a mom
ent she didn’t recognize him—it’d been so long. Morgan caught the pale blue of his gaze and she knew then, the devil himself had come for her.
SLADE INHALED THE FILTH AND the dust from the floor while he pried his eyelids open from will alone. Corey’s words lingered, as did the ache his bullets had left behind. Slade dragged his hand across his stomach, expecting to feel the slickness of his own blood, while Morgan’s screams pierced the vacuum and the pieces to this puzzle slid home.
They were dead… they were all dead and this room was… he caught movement from the end of the room. The floor cracked and opened wide. Something slithered out of the gap, shimmering like a mirage, all teeth and claws. Fear kicked him hard in the gut. He pushed himself from the floor and shifted his gaze to Morgan.
FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE opening her eyes in this room, she felt cold, like a winter ache that gnawed at her bones, as she stared at the man who crawled out of the opening floor. She’d once waited for this man, for what had felt like forever, while her heart hardened. Now after all these years, he’d come for her.
Alex walked across the room toward her. He hadn’t changed at all. He still looked like the boy she’d fallen in love with. That love had shifted from him into a drug-induced high. He was her first rush. Her first shot, and he’d stung the most. Tears blurred her gaze, causing him to shimmer like a dream. Alex stood in front of her. Morgan looked to Slade, watching him struggle to his feet. She could see the desperation in his face. He reached for her. His lips moved, mouthing her name, but she could no longer hear him. She could no longer feel his love.
Alex waited for her. He wound his fingers through her hair, but not to caress. Instead, he yanked her head back. Alex became her line of sight. He smiled and held out his hand. In his palm lay a filthy needle. The end was crusted, blackened with old blood. The rod bent at an angle, designed for pain. Morgan’s veins stung, burning with need as though her last needle had been only yesterday. Her hurt and rage returned, shooting through her like the drug she’d once belonged to. Alex’s voice was soft, alluring. “Just one hit Morgan. It’s not going to hurt you.”
