Chapter Twenty-Two
Liam
Zed whistles. “This place is the stuff of nightmares.”
The downstairs front of the house—the mansion, rather—seems fine.
There’s a side exit that leads out to a wide tiered patio, the kind people use for entertaining.
The kitchen looks like the sort any wealthy asshole would be proud to show off to his wealthy asshole friends.
Imported marble counters and lots of shiny steel.
All of the upstairs bedrooms connect to private bathrooms with jetted tubs and private balconies.
The rear of the first floor, however, is a different story.
Through the butler’s pantry—and who the fuck even has a butler these days—is a hidden sliding door. And through that sliding door?
“People were definitely held here.” Zed points to a mattress against one wall, dirty and stained. It’s sickening to even think what it was used for.
For a moment, my feet are frozen to the floor. I can barely touch the thought that the guy who owned this house was in the same room with Ravi without wanting to gag.
There’s a row of eyebolts along one wall, the paint peeling and the tiles chipped. Nobody was paying any attention to maintaining this room the way they were to the rest of the house.
“Photography equipment.” I point to the other end of the large room. One wall is covered by one of those drape things photographers use as a background. On the ground is a tripod nobody bothered to take with them for some reason.
“Jesus,” Zed mutters. “That’s sick. Probably a real good thing Ravi didn’t take this guy up on his offer.”
“No shit.”
Jesus. Thinking of what Dylan Beck could have done to him wrings my insides out. This bastard could have snuffed out the kid’s bright light.
You’re going to do the same thing if you’re not careful. Leaving him on your bed with not even a backward glance. You’re such a bastard.
Well, I never denied being a bastard. At least I don’t hold people against their will.
Then I remember spanking Ravi to orgasm on his bed and then locking him in his room. Fine. Maybe I deserve to be sent to hell with the rest of them. But if I’m going to hell, I’m taking the guy who chained people to a wall in his hidden back room with me.
That’s when a memory hits me. “Shit. Chains.”
Zed looks up from where he’s inspecting a doorway. “Yeah, I figure that’s what the bolts were for.”
“No.” I rub my forehead. “I mean, yes. Also…” Dammit, I’m going to have to come clean about stalking my damn ward. “The thing is, when I took this past week off? I wasn’t exactly relaxing at home.”
“I’d be surprised if you know how to relax.”
“That’s not the point.” Looking up in despair more than thought, I notice the tiny intrusive eye of a camera mounted in one corner of the ceiling, aimed roughly at where the mattress and the row of bolts were placed.
Chills erupt on the back of my neck.
“Well, I suppose that’s not too surprising.” I point to the camera.
Zed pulls out his phone. “I’ll get Bev on it. You were saying something about chains, though. Or…your time off.”
Right. Fuck. “I was following Ravi.” The confession rushes out, hot and guilty.
“You were…” Zed’s gaze swings slowly in my direction. “I’m certain I misheard you, because it sounded like you said you’ve been following a nineteen-year-old college student with no criminal history.”
My petulantly muttered “He’ll be twenty in November” only buys me more of Zed’s exasperation.
I know. I heard it when I said it.
“I’m honestly worried, man. This level of recklessness is unlike you. What if he’d seen you and decided to report you to the police?”
I lift one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “We have a few friends on the force. Besides, he did see me, and nobody’s shown up on my doorstep yet.”
“Nobody’s shown up on your—” Zed breaks off with a humorless laugh. “That’s fucking perfect. Okay. Moving on from all of that, because fucking uh-oh, man. What does following the beautiful twink you refuse to admit you want to fuck have to do with this horror house we’re standing in right now?”
“That was a mouthful, Zed.”
“Well, I like to keep my mouth full as often as possible, Liam. Stop fucking around and answer the question.”
“Fine. When I was casually observing him on the Premiere’s pool deck the other day, a group of obnoxious twenty or thirty-somethings mentioned parties at a house that had recently gone into foreclosure.
They mentioned people. On chains.” I gesture to the eyebolts on the wall.
“Like the sort of thing that might be used to secure people to those hooks, perhaps. I remember sending Bev a picture of the guys because their conversation seemed fishy, but they were being vague enough that the meaning of it wasn’t obvious. ”
Zed’s upper lip lifts into a sneer. “Sounds like those guys you saw were party guests. Or customers.” He pulls his phone from his pocket.
“I’ll touch base with Bev. See if she’s had time to look into those guys yet.
Oh, and by the way? You make an appointment to see the therapist or I’m going to zip tie your ass and drag you in there myself. ”
“Right.” I turn and wander through the only doorway in here that doesn’t lead back to the butler’s pantry. Because the room needs to be checked out, and not at all because I’m avoiding my friend’s judgmental stare.
What I see when I enter the room stops me cold.
It’s a shower room, most likely originally intended to be used by people on their way into or out of the swimming pool.
The exterior door has been walled off, however, and though someone made a cursory effort to hose this place out at one point, there is very clearly dried blood on the tile.
Zed pokes his head in. “Fuck.”
“Think they killed people in here?” I gesture to the dried blood on the tile.
“Or tortured them.” He sighs. “We’re going to need to report this to law enforcement. Not that they’ll probably do anything.”
“I think I saw an article in the Belle Argo Times about some detective getting arrested for their involvement in this whole thing.” I gesture around the room, but we both know I’m referring to more.
“Must be the detective some of our witnesses mentioned. Maybe things are changing at Belle Argo PD.”
Zed proceeds to scrape a sample of the dried blood into a small, zippered baggie for us to test before the police come in. While he’s making the call to local law enforcement, my own phone rings.
It’s Ravi.
“Kid?”
“Okay. Don’t be mad, but I kind of decided to go out and find some breakfast. And, well, I think someone’s following me.”
This house. This call. I’ve been barely holding on to my sanity, and that was before I think someone’s following me.
The words wrap tight around my throat.
What the fuck? I gesture to Zed, yanking the keys from his back pocket as I race for the door. “What do you mean you think someone’s following you?”
“Well, it’s pretty early on a Sunday morning for people to be out, and this car came up behind me almost as soon as I left your property. It’s kind of nice, actually. Red? I’m not good with the brands though. Anyway, I drove around in a weird pattern for a while, and it’s still behind me.”
Once again, Ravi isn’t taking danger seriously. If he was, he wouldn’t sound like he’s reporting the weather.
My race to the exit feels like moving through quicksand. Even at top speed, it’s too slow. Way too fucking slow.
“Where the fuck are you now?” I’m in the car and starting it up when Zed jumps in.
“Downtown. I was on my way to get a breakfast burrito.”
He was on his way to—“Of course you fucking were,” I grumble.
Ignoring Zed’s questioning look, I say, “Keep your speed reasonable. Not too slow, but I don’t want you leading this guy on a car chase. Keep me on the phone. Zed and I are on our way. Whatever you do, stay in the car. Try to not get fucking kidnapped before we find you.”
I’m tearing out of there like a rabid dog who’s slipped its leash.
“You got it, Daddy.”
Daddy. I choke on the word. I’m going to kill that little shit when we find him.