by Mari Carr
“A third?” Christian hadn’t meant to voice his disbelief aloud. In truth, it felt like they’d been walking for hours. Surely they’d traveled several miles rather than the scant distance Charlotte referred to.
Both of his partners stopped and turned to face him, concern in their eyes. He was instantly sorry he’d opened his mouth. “I’m fine.”
“You’re white as a ghost,” Charlotte said.
“That’s just the lighting. Same thing happens onstage. That’s why we wear so much makeup. Keep going.”
Vincent studied his face a second longer and even glanced behind Christian in the direction they’d just come.
“We’re not turning around,” Christian assured him, proud of the strength in his voice. “So start walking. We’ve got a job to do. Let’s do it.” Damn Tony judges were missing the performance of a lifetime down here.
Vincent resumed their course, taking direction from Charlotte as they picked their way through the spider’s web of tunnels, with only a couple of missteps into hidden alcoves.
This place was masterminded by either a genius or a psychopath.
Finally, they hit a turn in the tunnel Charlotte had been looking for. However, her hesitation proved her confusion.
“This doesn’t make sense,” she said, looking from the photo of the blueprint on her phone to her surroundings.
“What doesn’t?” Vincent asked.
Rose had been down in these tunnels dozens of times with Caden—back before Juliette became Grand Master, before the Trinity Masters realized that the purists were still active, before they knew of the tunnels’ existence, let alone saw a map of this place.
There were good memories of this place. Times she and Caden had run through the tunnels laughing as they’d snatched up some highly valuable piece of artwork and hustled it out, so it could be sold to fund the purists. Or times when they’d sat on the floor, staring at the Nazi art, and tried to figure out how to use the information to get away. Searching desperately for a way to get themselves and Tabitha out of the clutches of Caden’s parents.
Tabby. Rose stopped to lean on the wall as bile rose in her throat. What would happen to Caden’s sister? Who would tell her that he’d died? With Caden dead, her only hope of a future was Rose.
Rose crouched into a ball. “I can’t, I can’t.” She and Caden hadn’t managed to stand up to his parents together. Hadn’t managed to unlock whatever great secret they were hiding—something that was bigger and more damning then Nazi art.
The smell of the cold, wet stone brought memories rushing back, but not the memories of her and Caden here alone together. Instead, it was the memory of the first time she’d come here. The one she’d suppressed. Refused to relive.
“This is supposed to be a T. That way,” she pointed down the long winding tunnel to the right, “will take us to 500 Boylston.”
“So what’s the problem?” Christian asked, wishing they could be on their merry way. He wasn’t going to be able to hold it together indefinitely. Sweat was running down his back, and his head was starting to pound.
“There should be a path here,” she said, pointing to a wall of stones. “One that circles back around and hooks up with the tunnel that collapsed and trapped that woman. What was her name?”
“Why does her name matter?” Christian asked, ashamed of the temper flashing in his words.
It didn’t help that Vincent replied, “Irina,” at the same time, making it obvious Christian was losing his shit.
“Christian,” Vincent said, but Christian waved his pity away with a flick of the flashlight. When he did so, something caught his eye.
“This wall isn’t like the others. Actually,” Christian stepped closer, “it’s not a wall at all. It’s been bricked up with stones.”
“You’re right,” Charlotte said, running her hand over the wall. “Someone built this after the fact. Several decades after, I’d say.”
Vincent studied the wall, flashing his beam over the stones from top to bottom. “It looks like they rushed the job.”
“What do you mean?” Charlotte asked.
“Whoever built it intended to make the change permanent. The bottom half of the wall was constructed with rocks and cement. But they either ran out of time or money because the rest of this…”
Vincent pressed on one of the stones near the top until it fell behind the wall. They heard it thud loudly on the dirt floor on the other side.
Rose closed her eyes and gave in to the bad memory…
The cold had seeped into her bare skin. Her toes and the balls of her feet, pressed hard into the floor, were numb, which made balancing even harder.
Another violent shiver made Rose quake in her bindings. Caden looked up from the storage crate he was about to lift. His mouth made a tight line, his eyes flashed with anger. A piece of hair fell over his forehead, softening the hard lines of his face. Rose whimpered and closed her eyes.
She was scared of him. She didn’t want to be. It would kill him if he knew, but she was terrified. Intellectually she knew he wasn’t angry at her, but she couldn’t help but react to that anger. They’d broken her, time and again. Trained her like a dog to fear her master’s displeasure.
And Caden was her master. Claiming her had been the only way to protect her, she knew that.
She knew it.
And she hated him for it.
Hated him for accepting what they’d done to her, and not only participating in it, but embracing it.
And again, she could never tell him. If Caden knew she feared and hated him, it would break him. Weston’s disappearance had hit both of them hard. For Caden, it meant the loss of his stronger, more powerful older brother who had fought back against their parents. For Rose, it had meant the loss of the boy she’d loved.
They’d mourned in secret. They said “disappearance” but they both knew Weston was dead—murdered by his own parents.
They thought they’d escaped when they went to college, but those were merely temporary reprieves as evidenced by today. She’d left her last class of the day to find Elroy standing outside the room. He’d merely looked at her. Rose’s eyes lowered, her shoulders straightened into the appropriate posture, and she’d followed him to a waiting limo.
Once inside, she’d known better than to try sitting on a seat. She’d knelt on the floor, legs spread, hands clasped behind her head. Caden had stroked her hair and cheek, and Rose had wanted to scream at the same time she relaxed, grateful he was there.
Elroy alone was very, very dangerous. Caden’s presence would keep him in check.
“Caden,” Barton snapped. “Keep working. We don’t have time for you to stop and gawk.”
Caden turned to his father and bared his teeth. “Then let me put some clothes on her.”
Barton Anderson marched over to where Rose balanced on her toes. She was serving as Caden’s motivation to work faster.
Barton and Elroy had herded them both down into the tunnels, the leash attached to Rose’s collar held firmly in Elroy’s hand. They’d reached a room full of boxes. Some were simple file boxes, while others were clearly new metal trunks, which, when opened, turned out to have foam padding inside.
While Barton explained to Caden that they were here to pack up and remove the most valuable pieces, Elroy had told Rose to strip to her underwear. She’d obeyed with trembling fingers. Then Elroy had pulled a heavy posture collar out of his bag. It looked like the neck braces they used to keep people’s heads steady after car accidents, but was made of leather and metal, not plastic. It forced Rose’s chin up and dug into her collarbones and shoulders.
She was naked except for the delicate lace bra and panties that were the only underwear she was allowed—when she was allowed to wear it at all. Thank God she’d been wearing the appropriate underwear. If they’d caught her wearing something comfortable, the punishment would have been swift and brutal.
With her head held high by the collar, Elroy had wrapped a thin, strong rope
through the D hook on the back of the collar and threaded the other end over a support beam in the ceiling above them, forcing Rose onto her toes before tying it off.
“This will motivate you to work faster,” Elroy had said, voice calm, eyes dead as always.
“She’s mine,” Caden had argued. “Don’t touch her.”
“And that’s the reason I’m not fucking her.” Elroy ran his hands over her body. Rose closed her eyes.
Caden spat out a cuss word, then said, “You’ll choke her.”
“No, she won’t choke. But her calf muscles will give out and she will be very uncomfortable. Now I suggest you finish the job your brother didn’t and pack up these pieces.”
That had been what felt like hours ago.
Rose experimentally let her heels drop, but despite Elroy’s assurances, it felt like she was choking and her jawbone would sheer off. She forced herself back onto her toes, calves screaming and tightening.
Barton was examining the art stacked in haphazard piles and sticking Post-it notes on the ones he wanted. The Post-it notes were so incongruous that Rose stared at them, transfixed. Caden knelt on the floor, fitting a statue into the moldable padding inside one of the locking metal cases.
Barton flipped the top off a file box and plucked out an album. He flipped through it and tossed it back into the box. No Post-it note.
Muttering, Barton left the room. Elsewhere in the tunnels, whatever Elroy was doing sounded like construction.
The instant Barton was gone, Caden raced over to her. He wrapped an arm around her thighs and lifted her, then shoved one of the metal trunks under her.
Rose moaned in relief as she was able to stand flat-footed, yet part of her railed at Caden for not untying her. Just as she had been broken, he had been too. She doubted it would occur to him to remove her from her bondage. As her master, he would care for her by making her more comfortable, but not by freeing her.
He rubbed her legs briskly. “Relax your arms.”
Rose unlaced her freezing fingers from behind her back and tentatively crossed her arms over her stomach. When Caden didn’t reprimand her, she crossed her arms over her cold breasts, protecting them.
“I’m going to hide it.”
“Hide what?” Her teeth chattered as she spoke.
“There’s a folio. He put two Post-its on it. I want to come back for it.” Caden kissed the back of her hand. “I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t leave!”
Rose’s heart was in her throat as he dashed across the room, picked up a small item no bigger than a binder, and raced out of the room. She rubbed her arms and stomach, tugged at the posture collar, and scooted back on the box until she could drop her heels off, stretching her tight calf muscles.
Come back, come back. Caden, come back.
She heard steps, and she knew it was too late. She knew those footfalls, and the past four years had taught her to fear them.
Elroy appeared, his eyes falling on her, and a spark of dark anticipation lit the soulless depths.
“Such disobedience, Rose.”
Elroy dusted what looked like concrete off his hands.
“My master allowed me a moment to rest,” Rose stammered, as best she could with the collar digging into her jaw.
“Did I give you permission to speak?” Elroy circled her.
Rose closed her eyes and didn’t answer. They’d given Elroy an opening, and he would take full advantage of it.
“Step down.” Elroy unbuckled the collar.
Rose stepped off the box and sighed quietly as the horrible restriction and pressure of the collar released.
“Spread your legs. One foot on either side of the box.”
Rose’s relief was short-lived. She stepped wide, the box serving as a spreader bar to keep her ankles apart. Elroy yanked her wrists together behind her back, bound them with rope, then looped it over the beam and raised her wrists. The pressure on her shoulders forced Rose to bend forward.
Elroy kept raising her wrists until Rose was bent with her upper body parallel to the floor, arms locked. She knew what was coming even before she heard him unbuckle his belt. The thick leather cracked against her ass.
It had been months since she’d received a beating, and she’d forgotten how much it hurt. Rose choked back a sob as he mercilessly whipped her.
“Lovely,” he murmured. “You’ve learned to take your punishments with grace.”
Pounding footsteps grew louder. Before he was even in the room, Caden yelled, “Don’t touch her. She’s mine!”
Elroy chuckled, shifted position, and swung the belt underhand, striking her breasts. The hard edge of the belt caught her nipple and Rose choked on a scream.
Elroy landed two more blows before Caden raced into the room. He didn’t stop running. Face set in a mask of rage, Caden slammed into Elroy, throwing him away from Rose.
Caden straddled Elroy and slammed a fist into his face.
Stop, Caden, stop. You can’t win.
Rose winced when Elroy landed a blow of his own. Then Barton was there, pulling them apart.
“Enough,” he snarled at both of them. “The future of this family depends on getting what we need and getting out.”
Rose had overheard Barton and Victoria talking about needing a large influx of cash, and she was betting this was how they planned on getting it.
“Caden wasn’t here when I got back,” Elroy said.
“Where were you?” Barton snapped.
“I had to pee, you dick.”
Barton snarled at his younger son. Now his only son. “You will help me finish this.” Barton’s eyes went cold. He was not the devotee of the BDSM lifestyle that Elroy was, but he embraced it. “Elroy, why don’t you help motivate our son.” He jerked his head at Rose.
Rose closed her eyes. She’d known this would happen. It always did. When they were angry with Caden, then took it out on her—she was their whipping boy.
“No,” Caden said. “She’s mine.”
“You’re still just a boy,” Barton dismissed with a wave.
“You still need training.” Elroy’s lips twitched in pleasure as he approached Rose once more, scooping his belt off the stone.
Caden started forward, only to be pulled back by Barton. “The faster you finish, the sooner it will be done.”
An hour later, Rose was limp with pain. Her ass, thighs and breasts were raw and throbbing. She was alone. Elroy had gone to finish his project, whatever it was, and Caden and Barton had carried out the last silver trunk, leaving messy piles of boxes with the less valuable items and papers.
They’d taken the trunk from between her legs, so she inched her feet together, straightening her back as she did. She swayed in place, nauseous and light-headed from the pain and extended bondage. She forced herself to stand. Reminded herself that if she fell, she’d dislocate and possibly break her shoulders.
Caden returned alone. Without speaking, he freed her, helped her dress. The jeans scraped over her abused flesh, and Rose started to cry in earnest. Caden offered to carry her, but she opted to walk. Inside her shoes, her feet were frozen blocks.
Caden helped her up the ladder, into the basement of the building his parents owned. He helped her into a service elevator, and they managed to avoid seeing anyone as she limped into an unused executive suite on one of the upper floors. It had a shower, and Rose had clung to Caden and sobbed as he stripped off her clothes and helped her under the hot water.
Then they’d lain on plush carpet, on a bed of their clothes, and Caden had run gentle fingers over her. The aftercare morphed to something different as his fingers brought her pleasure, mingling abuse and love, until all she could do was cling to him.
“It’s loose,” Christian said.
Charlotte looked from the wall in front of them, and then down the path they were supposed to be following. “Forge on or break it down?”
This time, he and Vincent were in perfect agreement.
“Break it do
wn.”
The crash of bricks freed Rose from the memory. She stood, heart pounding. They were here. The ones who’d taken Caden from her.
She slid the gun from the bag and dimmed the light on the headlamp. Silently, she followed the sound, sliding through the dark tunnels, her rage and grief building with each step. The sound kept coming, as if single bricks were falling.
At one point, she had to backtrack and slip into what she thought was merely a shallow alcove. Instead, it was a cleverly camouflaged entrance to another tunnel. Or maybe it was an access point between tunnels.
For years, she’d served as keeper of the map to this place, dolling out doctored versions that didn’t show all the tunnels. It was her small rebellion. When all three sections of what she’d thought was the original map had been discovered, she assumed it was all over.
But even then, there were secrets inside secrets. Caden had known there was another map—the map Juliette now had—and he hadn’t told her about it until it was discovered. She remembered the fight they’d had, which had ended in some truly explosive angry sex. For them, it had almost been vanilla sex, or as close as they knew how.
She turned a corner and saw a light shining into a hole in the tunnel wall. She ducked back and shifted her hold on the gun, sliding her finger over the trigger.
The light shining in the hole in the wall illuminated a section of tunnel and the treasures waiting there.
Caden had once told her that there were plenty of things still in the tunnels—things he’d purposely left here so that someday he’d be able to come back for them to try to unravel the purists’ great secret. He explained there were also things that were too big, or too fragile, to take out.
What the light revealed was in the second category.
“What the hell?” Vincent muttered.
“What is that?” Charlotte asked.
“Why is it down here?” Christian added his question to the others.
Vincent lifted his leg, hoisting himself over the waist-high permanent wall, while gingerly seeking footing on the other side. Some rocks they’d pulled out, others they’d pushed in. As a result, they’d made a mess on both sides of the low wall.
