CHAPTER 25 MEAN MEN & PRETTY BABIES
“Fuck…” Daniel ground out between clenched teeth as he packed the ragged, seeping wound with gauze.
Blood oozed between his fingers, warm and sticky, as he pressed the white cotton against torn flesh.
The makeshift bandage turned crimson almost instantly.
He taped it with trembling hands, then tucked his ripped, blood-soaked shirt back into his pants, the fabric clingy and wet against his skin.
Byrne leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching him without any expression and offering no assistance.
His eyes, cold as river stones, followed every painful movement.
“You should have listened to me,” he said dryly, a hint of satisfaction curling at the corner of his mouth. “Now you know.”
“Know what?” Daniel muttered, sweat beading on his upper lip as he jerked open the bottom drawer of the desk.
The ancient wood splintered at the corners, flakes of varnish crumbling onto the floor as he pulled out another Glock.
The metal caught the dim light as he shoved it into his empty holster with a satisfying click.
“That I'm all you got,” Byrne said, pushing off from the wall, his shadow stretching across the floor between them. “All you've ever had. I'm your legacy, whether you like it or not.”
Daniel looked at him with eyes as vacant as abandoned wells; he had heard what Daniel told Henry. His face remained a mask of indifference, carved from stone. Byrne would not retaliate against him—the hunger for his father's approval was etched into every line of his tense posture.
“What happened with the boy?” Daniel asked, shifting gears, his voice dropping to a mocking drawl. “Looks like he fucked you over good. I assume he escaped.”
“A minor setback,” Byrne drawled, running his thumb along a fresh cut on his jawline. “I'll find him. For now, we have others to deal with.” His gaze shifted over his father's blood-soaked bandages, nostrils flaring slightly. “You up for hunting with that hole in you?”
“I'm fine,” Daniel growled, shoving past his son with a wince he couldn't quite hide. The office door hinges squealed as he yanked it open, paint flakes spiraling to the floor. Byrne followed, boots crunching over debris. “Let's deal with these fuckers and get back to the matter at hand.”
“And what's that?” Byrne asked, fingers absently tracing the knife hilt at his belt. “Now that turning Henry isn't an option anymore.”
“Then I make him suffer,” Daniel whispered, his face twisting into something barely human, his eyes gleaming feverishly, “make him watch while I destroy those he loves, one by one… scream by scream… until there's nothing fucking left for him to live for.”
The smaller man slid off the giant’s back and landed before Savannah, dropping to his haunches briefly before rising slightly.
Savannah gasped and flinched away from him, hugging her exposed body.
Her large aqua eyes widened fearfully as the “creature” walked beside her.
Well, not so much walked as jittered and scuttled around her, back and forth, with an awkward gimp—his twisted foot partially dragging—as they moved forward, as if he were incapable of holding still or walking calmly.
His twitchiness was creepy, but it was the way he repeatedly “chomped” his sharp teeth that scared her so badly—like he might suddenly take a bite out of her.
His longish hair hung in dark, stringy strands around his face, and the rare times he stood fully upright, Savannah noticed he was about Abel’s height and didn’t seem much older than her brother.
It was hard to think of him as a young man in his early twenties when he hardly seemed human.
Where had he and the giant come from? Did they live in this place?
“What’s your… name?”
Savannah wasn’t expecting him to ask questions, and she just stared at him, hugging her body, trembling. Her jaw worked as she tried to answer, but her fear and the bitter cold constricted her throat and tightened her chest.
Cocking his head, the “boy-creature” looked at her. In the shadows, his eyes were dark pools, the color impossible to detect. “Pretty babies… should have pretty names.”
Pretty babies? That’s what he’d called her back in the cage— Pretty baby— just before he started stroking her hair. Did he see her as a child? Her large eyes and stunted body often caused people to think she was younger than her actual age, but never a young child.
She tensed when he reached out and stroked his long nails through her blond strands. He didn’t seem to notice—or care—that her hair was dirty and limp.
“Pretty hair,” he cooed. “Like the boys.”
Savannah didn’t know who “the boys” were, and shivered.
“What’s your name?” he asked again.
Savannah swallowed, her throat working as she whispered shakily, “S-Savannah.”
“Savannah.” He repeated her name again and again, as excited as a child receiving a gift. “Savannah is a pretty name. Pretty, pretty, pretty.” He practically hopped around her despite his gimp ankle, singing her name.
The giant man didn’t respond to his antics, even when the twitchy boy leaped up on his back again and hugged his neck. He laid his head on the big man’s shoulder and gazed down at Savannah with a toothy grin that was straight out of a nightmare… yet somehow didn’t feel threatening.
“Her name’s Savannah,” he told the giant. “Isn’t it a pretty name, Bram?”
Bram. Was that the giant’s name?
The huge man didn’t reply. His small companion was unfazed by his lack of response and dropped back to the floor beside Savannah. She swallowed fearfully, helplessly unnerved by his clacking teeth.
“Wh-What…” her voice rasped and trembled. “What… What’s your name?”
“My name?” he appeared stunned that she had asked—and overly excited.
He skittered around her, his scary grin broadening, stretching across his face.
“My name’s Jitterbug… because I’m jittery.
” The sound that came out of him was surely meant to be a laugh, but was more of a cackle.
His head tilted as he looked at her. “The mean men in prison named me that because I jittered and twitched when they fucked me.”
Savannah flinched at the raw confession.
“They fucked me a lot. Ganged up on me. Hurt me. They thought it was funny to choke me with their dicks.” He tittered. “But they didn’t think it was funny anymore when I sharpened my teeth.” He clacked his pointed teeth, grinning.
Savannah stared at him, horrified.
Something shifted in Jitterbug’s demeanor when he asked, “Did the Mangler fuck you?” His words were thicker, his voice developing an almost guttural rasp.
Recoiling, Savannah hugged herself tighter and shook her head. Tears filled her eyes as the terror of her recent impending fate welled up inside her. “But he… he was… going to.”
Jitterbug shook his head, his lips rippling across his teeth. “He hurts pretty babies,” he snarled. “Him and the other one. They wanted to hurt the pretty boys. I hid them.”
The pretty boys?
“He hurt the pretty guard in prison. He was the only one who was nice to me. He gave me medicine to stop the pain when the others hurt me. The Mangler fucked him… and killed him. I forgot… but I remember now.”
Savannah’s own trauma prevented her from fully processing the things he told her, as she just looked at him, numb and terrified.
The giant halted suddenly and pulled open a rusted door, breaking the corroded seal along the metal doorframe. He looked inside, then nodded at Jitterbug, who ushered Savannah into the small space that appeared to have been a utility closet.
“Wait… what…?” Savannah trembled.
“Stay.” Jitterbug pressed his hand at her. “Hide. Stay.”
“I-I can’t,” Savannah cried. “M-My friends are here. They’re in danger. I-I have to find them.”
“Stay,” Jitterbug insisted. “We find them.”
Savannah shivered. “They… They’ll be afraid of you.” Her chin trembled. “Please don’t hurt them.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “I love them. Please don’t hurt them.”
Jitterbug just stared at her—and closed the door, the metal emitting a dull shriek. The giant shoved it into place. Then she heard a scraping sound like something heavy being dragged, and a thud as it bumped against the door.
Fear gripped her in the darkness, sparking a new wave of panic.
They barricaded the door—I’m locked in!
What if they didn’t come back?
“Fuck.” Cole slammed his shoulder into the door for the third time, the impact echoing a hollow boom through the room. Pain radiated down his arm, but he barely noticed it.
“Cole. Stop.” Gabe grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the unyielding metal. “It's locked. Probably latched from the outside. We're not going to knock it open—you'll dislocate your fucking shoulder if you keep trying.”
“Then how the fuck do we get out?” Cole jerked away from Gabe's hand, pacing back and forth in front of the door like a caged animal, his boots scuffing against the concrete floor.
His hands flexed and unflexed, knuckles white, fingernails digging into his palms. Tears glazed his bloodshot eyes—eyes that reflected a mounting panic, pupils dilated with fear.
“We have to get to the kids.” He jabbed a trembling finger at the door, a vein pulsing at his temple.
“Those fuckers are out there with them. Byrne went after Maddy.” He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing, tears thickening until they clung to his lashes.
“What the fuck are we gonna do, Gabe?” The raw desperation in his voice cracked like thin ice, and the anguish radiating from his face broke Gabe's heart.
Cole had fought back against his dad, but if anything happened to the kids—he would still blame himself .
“I'm not sure,” Gabe admitted reluctantly, his voice rough with fear as he scanned the windowless room. “But we can't knock down the door.”
His throat working, Cole shook his head, the tendons in his neck popping.
“Then we're fucked. And the kids...” He bit his lips between his teeth until they blanched white, his chin trembling like a child's.
“If we don't bring them home...” His voice shattered in the silence, fragments of raw agony ricocheting off the concrete walls.
“How the fuck can I ever look Angel and Abel in the face again? How can I look anyone in the face?” He smacked his own chest with a flat palm, the sound echoing in the concrete room like a gunshot. “This is my fucking fault!”
“Cole— stop it . For fuck's sake, you're not the one causing this shit! It’s not your fault he came after you .” Gabe grabbed his shoulders, fingers digging into the sweat-soaked cotton, feeling the rigid tension underneath.
“You fought back. You wounded him and sent him running.
Don't let that fucker back inside your head, or he will win.”
Cole squeezed his eyes shut, crow's feet deepening at the corners, then opened them slowly, tears streaming down his stubbled cheeks.
“If we don't get out of here...” his voice trembled, “.
..then he's already won. Because even if we take them out—but they've already hurt the kids—then where is the fucking victory?”
“I'm just saying,” Gabe spoke calmly, his breath visible in the chill air between them, “that we have to figure out a way to escape this room. And I can't do that alone. I need your head to be clear.”
Cole cleared his throat and nodded, the muscles in his jaw working beneath skin gone pale as chalk.
“Okay,” he rasped, looking around the large, shadowy room where water stains spread like dark continents across the ceiling.
“If we don't get out through the door...” he sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of a trembling hand. “...then how do we get out?”
Following the path of Cole's gaze around the room, Gabe sighed and shook his head, shoulders slumping beneath his blood-stained shirt. “I don't—”
The door latch disengaged from the outside with a metallic scrape that sliced through the silence like a blade.
Cole raised the gun his dad dropped, his fingers closing around the grip.
“Get behind me,” he told Gabe, his voice dropping to a whisper as he widened his stance and steadied his aim.
His hands, which had trembled with panic moments before, now held the weapon with eerie stillness, a predatory focus replacing the desperate fear in his eyes.